


I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

by colonel_bastard



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's <i>his</i> turn to be tied to the chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

**Author's Note:**

> Like so many, I was thoroughly seduced by the art of the brilliant [lily-fox](http://lily-fox.deviantart.com) on dA. She truly is a temptress! We got into a discussion about the possibility of some villain/captive roleplay, with Roxanne getting a little payback for all those years of abduction. Then this fic happened. Title is from the Jace Everett song of the same name, which I listened to on a loop while writing this.

The first pang comes when she tells him to wait. She sees it flash in his eyes--- not pain, not yet, but the same look of surprise and dismay as if she’d just slapped him. She likes to see him look so flustered. 

“Wait?” he repeats, incredulous. “After all that, you’re telling me to wait?”

“You heard me,” she says airily, already leaving for the next room. 

“But I’m in haaaaandcuuuuuffs,” he whines. “They’re cold and pinching and an unpleasant reminder of my criminal paaaaaaast.” 

“You want the surprise, you gotta play along,” she warns, and she stops at the door, facing him and bracing herself against the frame. “You do want the surprise, don’t you?”

And she pops her hip. 

Now, Roxanne has never been a girl who you could describe as “self-conscious.” She never went out of her way to hide under baggy clothes (well, there was that awkward freshman year of college, but she was young and nervous then), and she never went crazy trying to conform to the societal standard of beauty. That being said, she’d be lying if she said there weren’t mornings when she turned her ass to the full-length mirror and frowned deeply, changed into a more generous skirt, and vowed not to turn her back to the camera that day. 

But she hasn’t had a morning like that since the first time she saw Megamind make _that_ face. Right on cue, as she shifts her weight to the left and allows her hips to roll with it, his bright green eyes go half-lidded and glassy, his head actually pulling back as if in reaction to a shockwave. He reels, and she smirks. 

“Well?” she prompts. 

“Does the surprise involve you getting naked?” he wonders hopefully. 

“If I told you now,” she grins. “It wouldn’t be a surprise.” 

As she changes into her costume in the next room, she realizes with a hint of panic that she honestly never thought she’d get this far. When she floated the idea past him, she never dreamed that he would actually consent to it, that he would sit still and quiet and allow her to bind him in half a different places--- wrist to wrist, wrist to chair, ankle to chair (he never used to bind _her_ to the chair, and since she always noticed it and considered it a mistake, she had the prescience not to make the same error). He made no move towards her as she worked, except that as she finished with the cuffs on his right ankle and went to stand up, he bent forward so that her rising shoulder pressed up into his waiting mouth. 

For such a goober, he can be surprisingly smooth.  

She’s wearing her black Playboy bunny costume from last Halloween, albeit with some slight alterations to make it more villainous and less, well, ridiculous. She was sad to see the fluffy tail go, as its high perch on her rear gave her ass a particularly toned and lifted effect--- but it was a necessary sacrifice. Fishnet stockings were a must, and she borrowed a pair of high black boots from a girl at work with a considerably more adventurous taste in fashion. Dark elbow-length gloves were a last-minute addition and will probably be the first things to come off, but they’ll be a nice touch for her grand entrance. She’s done her make-up in an especially dramatic fashion, with smoky eyes and lipstick that’s quite a bit redder than she would usually wear, and she hopes it looks sexy rather than clownish. 

The piece de resistance in her outfit tonight is one of his very own capes, one with a collar that splashes up behind her head like a dark star, each point tipped with a sapphire to catch the light. The gemstones actually do a pretty good job at bringing out the blue in her eyes, and she gives herself a congratulatory nod in the mirror. 

“Okay,” she mutters. “Go get him.” 

She growls at her reflection, decides that it looks stupid, and makes a mental note to never make that face at him at any point, ever. 

Then she sits down in her office chair, aims it the door, and kicks against the floor so that she rolls into the room with her back turned to him. When she glides to a stop, she summons her most sinister chuckle before spinning the chair slowly to reveal herself. 

“Mr. Megamind,” she purrs. “We meet again.”

“Roxanne?” he gapes. 

“Who is this Roxanne you speak of?” she scoffs, and though she had crossed her legs upon entering, now she drops her feet to the floor and draws her knees wide open. “I am the Temptress.” 

“The... oh, wow.” he breathes, his eyes going wider and wider as he truly drinks in the sight of her. “Oh, my.” 

“ _Oh my_ is right!” she chuckles again, even more sinister. “You have fallen right into my trap and now you are at my mercy.”

“Ohhhhh, I see where you’re going with this,” he nods, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “I get it, I get it! It’s a, oh, um, what do you call it---”

“A game?” she offers. 

“But moooore than that...” he squints upwards as though the answer might be written on the ceiling. “A game... that involves two people... and each person is playing a different role...”

“A role-playing game?” she guesses.

“That’s it, that’s exactly it!” 

She knows that look on his face, knows that he would have clapped in glee if his hands weren’t currently chained behind him. 

“If you know the game,” she stage-whispers to him. “Then you’re supposed to play along.”

He freezes. 

“I’m the villain,” she prompts, hands pressed demonstratively against her black-clad chest. “So you’re the...?”

“Superhero!” he blurts excitedly. 

She gives him a deadpan look. “You are tied to a chair. I’m sorry, but right now, you ain’t no superhero, buddy.”

“Aww.”

“ _You,_ ” she clarifies. “Are the captive.”

The smile starts to creep back onto his face, decidedly less goofy and definitely more cunning as he finally figures it out. 

“And I’m at your mercy.”

And she leans back in her office chair, allows her legs to spread wide before popping one ankle up to rest on the opposite knee. She steeples her fingers and draws them to her chin, brings her thumbs close enough to catch her bottom lip and give it just the slightest tug before pulling away again. His eyebrows raise in anticipation as she says, “Exactly.” 

The game is on. 

“Now,” she continues, rising to her feet. “I have devised a host of horrific ways to torment and terrify you until you beg for mercy.”

“Bring it on, Temptress!” he challenges, then shrinks back and amends timidly, “But not too scary.” 

“Oh, it _will_ be scary,” she promises. “It will be as scary as I say it will be, and I say it will be... _really_ scary.” 

This seems like the perfect point for an evil laugh, so she throws one in there. He tries to laugh with her but she can tell his heart’s not really in it. A hint of panic spikes at the back of her brain. This was a stupid idea. It was so, so stupid. He looks so restless, so uneasy--- how could she have thought this would be fun? In a desperate gambit, she pushes forward with the rest of the script she had planned, hoping to salvage his mood with comedy. 

“Behold!” she points dramatically. “The Death Panther of Borneo!” 

His head whips around to follow her gesture, and he _does_ laugh when he sees her fat grey tabby cat, Murrow, decked out in a spiked collar and a bored expression. He looks back to her, his confidence mounting, his fearlessness reappearing as she hoped it would. 

“Nice try, Temptress,” he snorts. “But everyone knows that Death Panthers won’t eat anything blue. Not even blue _berries_ , and those are _delicious._ I am impervious!”

“Curses!” 

She swats at the air and turns away from him as if in dismay. Really it’s to hide the big, dumb, not-villainous-at-all grin that just exploded onto her face. It takes a moment to school her expression back into one of sneering bravado. 

Turning again to face him, she strikes a menacing pose and says, “You may be immune to my Death Panther, but let’s see how you handle... The Destructo Beam!”

From the end table she grabs up Murrow’s red-light toy, an imitation laser pointer that projects the image of a mouse onto Megamind’s forehead. He plays along, squirming as if in pain before straightening defiantly. 

“This is nothing!” he crows. “I’ve had worse burns from a tea kettle!”

“Very well, you leave me no choice.”

There’s another weapon on the end table, a genuine weapon but one that she plans to be very careful with. It’s a handheld version of the mounted spinning saws he used to threaten her with, a portable set of whirling blades that can be mounted on a gauntlet for battle, but which is currently an individual unit that fits nicely in her grip. It has a bracing, solid weight to it. 

“Let’s see how brave you are in the face of... The Blades of Instant Obliteration!”

She switches on the saw and rounds on him ferociously, jabbing it in his direction from a safe distance. Although she couldn’t reach him even if she swung for him, to her surprise he gives a shrill, unexpected scream and throws himself backwards, every chain pulling taut with a painful clank. It’s immediately obvious that it wasn’t an act. As they regard each other in the sudden awkward silence, she realizes something. 

“That really scared you,” she breathes. “Didn’t it?”

“No!” he says too quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Testing him, she comes a little bit closer, and when she feints at him with the saw again, he jerks against his restraints and snaps his eyes closed. 

It’s funny, she’s been threatened with so many Blades of Obliteration and crocodile pits and flamethrowers that she forgets that they ever used to frighten her. It’s been years--- but with a little concentration she can see herself as she was then, screaming and shaking, begging for mercy while Megamind laughed and laughed, flipping switch after switch to reveal danger after danger, his delight evident to her even through the haze of her own terror. He used to love this game. 

But that was when he was calling the shots. There’s her second epiphany--- that’s why he looked so squirrelly right from the very first threat. It wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy the game. It was because he didn’t like being the one who doesn’t know what’s going to come next. 

It’s an interesting change of pace, to say the least. 

She approaches slowly, taking her time, enjoying the way he squirms and leans away from her, his expression changing to one of cajoling good humor. 

“Okay, Roxanne, you’ve had your fun,” he guffaws weakly, unconvincingly. “Oh, what fun we’ve had! Wasn’t that fun? But I’m all funned out now, I think I need a break, yeah, I should lie down, you should probably just uncuff me and I’ll go... take a nap... or something....”

His words trail away as the saw gets nearer and Roxanne’s smile gets wider. She brings the whirring blades closer and closer to his neck, stopping with a good inch of clearance but still close enough that he should be able to feel the wind of it against his skin. He must remain absolutely still now, mustn’t risk a slip of the hand that might close the distance. 

God, he’s gorgeous when he’s scared. He stares up at her, his eyes huge and brimming with fear--- and not just fear, but this _trust_ underneath, this impossible hopeful trust, the steadfast and stubborn belief that she will not hurt him, not even with a bandsaw hovering at his throat. His lips are slightly parted and twitching with every shallow breath. She doubts that she could ever do anything to harm that beautiful neck--- her own lips part with desire as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple rolling seductively under the pale blue flesh, framed by muscle pulled tight in anticipation of pain. 

She switches off the saw. 

He heaves a sigh of relief, his eyes fluttering closed as he sags forward, nuzzling his head against her shoulder. 

“Oh. Oh thank goodness,” he wheezes. “You really--- you really had me worried there, Roxy.” 

With one gloved hand, she catches his chin and jerks it upwards, exposing his throat again. With the other, she draws the still blades of the weapon close enough to rest against the side of his neck, the skin indenting slightly from the pressure but not breaking. His eyes go even wider than before, a sound of alarm strangling itself in his clenched teeth. 

“The name,” she reminds him, “is Temptress.” 

_Thump._ His eyes flick down to see that she has butted her knee sharply between his legs--- the only thing protecting him is the edge of the chair. It’s a shame he’s incapable of sweating. She would have _loved_ to see it rolling down his face now, beading under his arms and soaking his shirt front. There is one good indication that she’s really got him on the run--- the tips of his ears are turning bright, bright pink. 

“Roxanne,” he says faintly. 

“Not so fun, is it?” she notes. “Not when you’re the one tied to the chair.”

“You’ve made your point,” he says hastily. “Oh, oh, I see the folly of my ways, how could I have been so cruel, I’ll never do it again. I swear. Okay?”

“Oh, no, no,” she steps back. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Although decency dictates that she should put her toys away when she’s done playing with them, she’s _not_ decent tonight. Tonight she’s a supervillain. Supervillains don’t put their toys away. The saw makes a delightfully loud clattering sound as she tosses it aside onto the floor. She bends at the waist before him, her breasts just about to spill out of the top of her bunny costume, her ass lending a sumptuous curve to the cape that pours down her back and onto the floor. 

“Whuh.... what are you doing?” he demands anxiously, his voice adorably high-pitched. 

“I’m unbuttoning your shirt,” she says as she does just that. “Couldn’t figure that one out, genius?”

“You’re not really going to hurt me, are you?” he asks fretfully. 

The shirt pulls open, and in lieu of a spoken answer she pinches one of his nipples, gives it a quick tweak that makes him hiss and shudder. She knows he doesn’t like having his chest exposed like this. He goes out of his way to cover it with studded breastplates and intimidating logos, but he can’t hide himself now. She pushes the shirt back over his shoulders and leaves his thin, panting chest completely bare. 

“I think I need some ice,” she muses, and takes her time on the trip. 

By the time she makes it back from the kitchen, the chair has already turned about ninety degrees from his thrashing, frantic attempts at escape. She chuckles, hooks an ankle around the leg of the chair, and turns it back towards her. He gives her a sheepish grin. 

“Trying to make a break for it?” she guesses. 

“I was just... trying to get a better view,” he giggles feebly. “Of your Death Panther.” 

“I think I’ve got a little cat that you’d much rather see,” she smirks, and trails her new ice cube from the sloping line of her collarbone down the length of her body, ending with a meaningful circling gesture between her legs. He giggles again, a little bit awestruck. 

“Miss Ritchi, I’ve never known you to be so, ah, forward.”

“You keep forgetting who you’re talking to.”

“Ah, yes,” he remembers. “My Temptress.”

Bending again, she brings the ice cube to the center of his chest and presses it against his skin. 

“Ah!” he squawks. “Ooo! Ooo, that’s cold! Ah!”

“The Frozen Death Cube,” she smiles from under lowered lashes. “A favorite torture device of mine.”

“Well--- it’s working!” he yelps, and she can hear his wrists tugging against the handcuffs. “Really! It’s working really well! I get it, I get it!”

She traces a lazy swirling pattern onto him, dragging the ice in a trail that circles around one nipple before wandering across his chest to find the other one. Moving it farther down his belly causes him to buck and wriggle uncomfortably, his protests wavering between playful and genuine, his eyes flashing with confusion.

“Okay--- _okay_ \--- that’s really cold, Roxanne--- I mean Temptress---”

“Too cold?” she gasps with mock dismay. “Here, let me warm you up.”

The ice cube joins the circular saw on the floor. So does the cape. Then she’s on her knees, her hands resting on his thighs as she lowers her head and sets her mouth against his skin, her hot tongue following the chilled line of condensation that marks the path of the ice cube. His flesh breaks out in waves of goosebumps, his body surging against the restraints again, not to escape but to arch up and meet her, his voice shivering out of him in a breathless moan of surprise and want. 

“Is this better?” she wonders, blowing a sweet warm breath against his navel.

“That’s--- ah--- that’s much better---”

His erection is pressing against the front of his slacks and he bucks his hips towards her, towards her open mouth, her hands resting so innocently near his fly. She pauses, considers, then opens the top button. Only the top button. Then she stands up and steps away. 

“No, no, _no!_ ”

He takes a single word from a groan to a hysterical shout in three quick syllables. It’s a pretty impressive vocal exercise. 

“No, what?” she tilts her head. 

“No, as in, no, don’t stop!” he splutters. “I should have thought that was fairly obvious!” 

“So you’re giving me orders, now?”

“I’m--- giving you a suggestion!” he says, and when that doesn’t work, he wrenches against his bonds and hisses, “All right, I’m asking you. Nicely. Uh, please don’t stop. I mean I would like it if you would keep doing that please.” 

“Oh really? You’re asking me nicely?” She plants a boot on the edge of the chair, right between his legs, the toe of it nudging against his hard-on. “Do you know how many times I asked you to stop?”

“What do you mean?” He eyes the boot and its proximity with understandable wariness. 

“Back when we first got started. When you’d tie me up and threaten me with death and I would beg you to let me go.”

“Oh, that takes me way back,” he starts to smile, but at her grim look, he sobers. “What’s your point?” 

“I _begged_ you,” she repeats.

“So?”

“So I plan to keep going,” she concludes with a predatory grin. “Until you beg.” 

And she gets to work. She starts with a little strip show, an achingly slow removal of the gloves and boots, an almost-unzipping of the bunny costume that turns into a scolding wag of her finger while he growls in frustration. The gloves become a useful tool on their own, the perfect length to be drawn teasingly along his shoulders, chest, and lap while he trembles and bites his lip against the urge to ask for more. God bless his tailor because those slacks _cling_ to his narrow hips, cut so close that she can see him getting harder and harder--- the zipper must be _killing_ his poor cock--- she knows he always goes commando. Not wanting to damage her own prize, she shows enough mercy to unzip him and tug his pants down around his thighs, and he gives a rough sigh of gratitude as his prick becomes the first part of him to be released from bondage. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” she warns. 

She licks and nibbles his ears until his legs pop in convulsive spasms, kicks that get snapped to a stop by the cuffs on his ankles--- she _knew_ those would come in handy. She kisses and scratches his sensitive scalp, standing behind him so she can see his fingers curling in ecstasy, the muscles in his biceps tight and straining. 

It’s when she’s on her knees again, blowing little puffs of air against his twitching cock, that he finally howls, “Oh please please _please_ I’m _begging_ you!”

She rises to her full height. He’s shaking, his eyes hazy with lust, his mouth twisted in a helpless grimace.

“Say it again,” she tries, just to see if it works. 

“Please.” It _does_ work. “I’m begging you.” 

Then she’s swinging her legs around him, landing square in his skinny lap, her arms looped lazily over his shoulders as she slides right up against his poor aching hard-on. 

“One more time,” she whispers. 

“Rox--- Tempt--- _Roxanne_ \---” he suddenly says in a loud, clear voice. “I am _begging_ you to _kiss_ me before I lose my exceptionally impressive _mind_.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do more than kiss you,” she grins wickedly. 

But first things first--- she closes the short distance between their lips in one decisive thrust, her hands reaching up to possessively cradle that beautiful neck. His mouth opens for her, his tongue reaching into her, and she can feel his shoulders draw up sharply with the desire to encircle her with his arms. She rolls her hips against his and captures the shaky moan of his exhale with her own inhale. Adrenaline sings hot and silver-bright in her veins. Victory is sweet. And like a true supervillain, she is certain of one thing. 

This is not the last time that Megamind will do battle with the Temptress. 

 

 

 

_________end.


End file.
